a part of me is not apart of me,voice to lung or wrong tubea singer & dance-a-thonqueen Anne’s lace or

do you know all the wild flowers in Iowathe way i know allthe wild flowers in Iowa after i see them.

my cell phone does not work wellin the centers of citiesin the centers of citiesyou can buy cell phones for cheapat cheap cell phone stores

somehow i walked back intowicker park w/o youtalking w/ my cell phone

& texted: everything you say to memakes me smiley.

II.

i am jealous of the desertw/ small you

seethere are no starsover Chicago

take places apartto makesmall distances you can hide behinda cactusleaves no part of me

no matter how much the temperature changesat night

when bats fly over a desertto kiss nectar& move on

to another desert.

III.

measure the unrealby those who are not realemptying eye parts or i canpretend not to,galaxies forming in the pit of my pitness& other dark floating bodieswhere you can't see

or to make more sensesee,there is this machinealways these machinesthat can carry a) voiceor the physical parts together in mythought

IV.

crumble the mountain

is it easier to hear dynamite

does the bridge swing

can i ask small favors

put each arm around my

detachable neck

i feel

going somewhere

fresh fruit

gobble going gets toughwhere i leave my skin to skin

in the sun's weather weathered,leather under where i sun my shaded self

selfish to hide. breeze i can findseldom despite a shiftless center--

horizon i noticed, the trees are no trees,but the trees are still planted

i grab you by this neck & this neckso they tell you the neck is detachable

coffea

gone from where i saw youor is where i saw you there.

staining things on my handsnow stain the pant legs of my pants.

shower when you might come by;i do not shower often.

the rich wet dirt you wantis under the hard dry earth.

you put this seed over here, over here& cherries grow out of me.

oh, profile

i refrain from complementing you on a daily basisbecause i am a flirt

when there is skin, or more skini will tell you & i won’t tell you at all

a neck wrapped around my armwhile i step on pine-cones the size of my head.

to Chicago

a whim & the fogrolls, i can say what the fog is. where smart cats keep breedingw/o consequence, & then the kissing words--

knew the sun would return even when there is no sun for milesor if it took monthsso on & a great distance that i can push backbehind your ear.

or do i dare that rain to/to touch uswith house taps--scare the dog, drops

a letterwritten with small bumps only

you will read to me words like hung, & hair lip, push meback against the wall & iwatch your mouth

then know my hand is now your hand,lost in the land of your hand parts. connect to other placeshidden by limited vision, & therepeople are

& then a reality filled w/ real things such aspeople eat, orcan i see pictures of you before they changed it.walking onhand pads for the feet to rest, i could walk like this for days

w/ you telling me, don't be so sillymy boy hands. hold--

maybe more of a man w/ man hands than i want to bemeasured by the silent minutesbetween the airconditioning unit click ons and offs

but you don't look where you're going& pass the nature walk, say blind spotIowa rest stopsgreener as temporary, as green can be for the garden orjust a damn lucky guy going for the turn-around& walk back towards the greenless thingsthat we can talk aboutwhen we talk about

or do i know what i'm doing, with itsaid‘i know why fog is here.’now, you're softest when the rain hasn't stopped& a small line can be curved into somethinglike the dirt of me, mud spittlemy mouth runs over yourcollar bonestill.